


Tit For Tat

by st1nkf1nger



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band), Repugnant (Band)
Genre: Choking, Creampie, F/M, Face-Sitting, Unsafe Sex, Vehicular Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:22:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26538784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st1nkf1nger/pseuds/st1nkf1nger
Summary: (Based on a post from kissthegoghuleh on tumblr)You've been following the band, Theoretical Slut, for a few months now. You've attended every show with one, singular goal in mind, but you've never managed to follow through with it. It takes you awhile to work up the courage, but this is the last leg of the band's tour, and you are rapidly running out of time. This is it--the last time you'll have an opportunity like this.
Relationships: Mary Goore/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	Tit For Tat

With steel running down your spine and your head held high, you saunter fearlessly into the venue. As the rest of the crowd filters in, you thread your way through them towards the stage, determined to get a good spot and ready to claw out the eyes of anyone that tries to displace you. The audience is thrumming with electricity, pressing all around you like a nervous herd of zebra, moments before the lions spring. 

You take deep, steadying breaths, and wait.

The lights suddenly dim. A tingling thrill of excitement and anxiety floods your system. One by one, the band takes its place on the stage. A wordless roar of appreciation rises from the crowd. You barely hear it as your eyes zero in on your target. You have a mission. You’ve come to this show for one reason and one reason only.

You’re going to flash Mary Goore your tits.

It’s a plan that’s been itching at the back of your mind ever since you saw him perform that first time. Something about it just grabbed hold of your brain and wouldn’t let go until you performed the act of catharsis and exorcised it from your body. You attended many shows after that first, working up the courage to do it, and each time you’d failed, but this time you are _fucking determined._ It’s the last leg of the band’s mini tour and after this, you might not get another chance.

He approaches the microphone and leans in until his lips touch it. _Kiss me like you kiss the mic, Mary,_ you think to yourself, smiling as he speaks.

“We are Theoretical Slut,” he says in his best gravely drawl, and he casts his eyes out to the audience. “And we’re here to rip your hearts from your chests and fuckin’ eat ‘em. Yee fuckin’ haw.”

 _Eloquent._ The last time you’d seen them, they’d been ‘Pussy Massacre’, and the show before that had been ‘Ballsack Explosion’. You’re not sure who comes up with these names, really, but they definitely reek of Mary’s particular brand of nasty.

The band begins playing.

You bide your time carefully, waiting until the perfect moment. Mary tends to tunnel-vision pretty hard when he’s playing, but there is a moment before certain songs when he addresses the audience. It’s usually near the middle of the show or at least a couple of songs in. That's your opportunity to strike. For the moment, you sway in time with the music, nervously toy with the hem of your blouse, and keep your eyes focused entirely on your target.

Christ, he’s pretty. You’ve been harboring this crush on scary Mary Goore for awhile now and it’s only gotten stronger the more times you’ve seen him. He’s rocking a few days’ worth stubble along his jaw and his blood spatter is extra chaotic tonight—like he just headbutted the wall moments before stepping out on stage. 

Sweet merciful Lucifer, it’s fucking hot.

The amount of times you’ve lost yourself to the fantasy of that bloodied face mashed between your legs is probably borderline pathetic, but you don’t care. Tonight is the night that you’re going to follow through with this plan. 

There, a window! Mary’s finished up his third song in the set and he’s approaching the mic for his little spiel to introduce the next one. Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Are you _morbid?”_ asks Mary, his voice pitched into a low growl. “This next one’s for all of you sick fuckers out there!” As he points out to the crowd, his kohl-rimmed eyes sweep the room and come to a stop on your face. 

Are you imagining that smirk of recognition there? Is it just wishful thinking on your part? Impossible to tell. The point is, _now’s the fucking time._ He’s looking right at you. The crowd roars its approval as the band begins to play, and your window of opportunity is rapidly shrinking. Before you can think about it too hard, you grab the hem of your shirt and yank it upwards, exposing your tits to the world.

The effect is immediate. Several people around you let out sharp, high whistles of appreciation and one guy drunkenly shouts, “YO, NICE TITTIES”, but you’re not interested in _their_ reactions.

It takes him a second to notice. Your timing’s a little off—he’s already looked down at his guitar by the time you work up the courage to lift your shirt, but the commotion from the crowd quickly gets his attention. At the whistles and hollers, Mary’s head snaps up. Brows knit in confusion, he searches the audience for the source for half a second, and then his eyes practically bug out of his skull when they finally land on your exposed chest.

_Success!_

Thoroughly distracted now, Mary’s fingers fumble on the guitar and he flubs the next chords in the song. His eyes are fucking glued to you—first shamelessly ogling your tits and then flicking up to meet your gaze. The guitar hangs forgotten at his waist.

A thrill surges up your spine and you grin.

Mary stares, slack-jawed, utterly ignoring the other band members who are valiantly attempting to continue their performance. The bassist reaches out and whacks him _hard_ on the upper arm, which seems to momentarily break him from his trance. But if the intent is to bring him back to the task at hand, it totally fails. Instead, Mary swings his guitar behind him, jumps down from the stage, and starts pushing his way through the crowd towards you. 

Theoretical Slut’s song comes to an abrupt, discordant halt as Mary’s bandmates exchange irritated glances. Some of the others around you are inching closer. Hastily, you pull your shirt back down and brace yourself for whatever’s coming.

“Hey, baby,” says Mary breathlessly, when he finally cuts through the mob of disgruntled metalheads to stand in front of you. His devilish smirk reminds you of a hungry cat, right before it pounces. 

Does that make you the hapless mouse, then?

“Hey yourself, Mr. Goore,” you reply, your voice even despite the heavy pounding of your heart in your throat. “Fancy meeting you here.”

The bassist shouts his name over the grumbling crowd, but Mary simply extends his arm and gives him the finger without even turning away from you. 

“If you’re trying to get my attention, cupcake, consider it got.”

“Who says that was for _you?”_ you purr, arching a brow. Despite the overwhelming desire to jump his bones right here and now, you manage to project an air of indifference.

“Don’t lie to me, sugar tits.” Mary’s brows knit into a nasty glare, but his smirk only grows wider. “Meet me backstage after the show. I’ll tell security to keep an eye out for the flasher.” 

“Hm, if my busy schedule allows.” 

A surge of pride fills your chest as a muscle jumps in his jaw. Your teasing’s either gotten him pissed off or worked up or possibly both. You can’t decide which is more appealing, but you know you’re going to be reaping the benefits regardless.

Without another word, Mary latches onto the loop of your belt, yanks you flush to his chest, and claims your mouth in a breathtaking kiss. It’s rough and sharp and way too goddamn brief, but _oh,_ so fucking good. He tastes like cheap whiskey and smells like cigarette smoke and his costume blood is damp on your skin, but his tongue stud gliding across your mouth sends electric shivers down your spine. Automatically, your arms come around his neck as he crowds into you, hungrily seeking more.

Hoots and shouts and wolf whistles quickly overtake the audience and all too soon, he’s pulling away. It seems as if he’s loath to look away from you—he backs up, parting the crowd as he goes, his ravenous eyes trained on your face. You watch him go, trying to remember how to breathe.

 _Fuck._ That went so much better than you could’ve ever imagined, and now you’ve got another hour and a half of anxious waiting. The throb between your legs is going to be hard to ignore. At least _he_ has his playing to distract him. Several people in the audience are staring at you now, equal parts jealous and annoyed, but you have eyes for only one man.

Mary clambers back onto the stage, ignoring the pointed scowls from his bandmates, and they restart the song that had been interrupted. Throughout the rest of their set, he occasionally meets your gaze across the sea of people, and something in his expression shifts. He becomes growlier in his vocals—if such a thing were even possible—when he looks your way, and his eyes grow dark with desire. Just to tease him further, you lift the hem of your shirt to expose a strip of your midriff, delighting in the way his teeth clench around his singing.

It’s possibly the longest goddamn ninety minutes of your life.

At last, the show finally winds down. Before the very final note from Mary’s guitar fully dies, you’re pushing your way through the crowd towards the backstage door. The bouncer there seems to recognize you before you even get to him, and he lets you pass with barely a glance. Heart pounding in your ribcage, you scurry down the black-painted hallway towards the only door you can see.

Nervously, you knock on the slightly ajar door and push it open a little. The band is sitting in their cramped and shabby green room, talking amongst one another while they wipe off their paint and get changed into their unbloodied street clothes. At your knock, they all fall silent and look up.

“Hey-ey, it’s you! Thanks for ruining the show, asshat!” says the bassist cheerily, as he turns away from the mirror where he’s wiping off his stage makeup.

“I’d say titties are always an improvement,” offers the drummer helpfully. He smirks and gives you a wink.

“S-Sorry about that,” you say sheepishly. “I was just—”

“Oh, it was pretty fucking clear just what you were doing,” snorts the bassist with a shake of his head. “Guess it got you what you wanted, huh?”

“Hey,” snaps a voice from behind you, and Mary steps into the room, scowling at his bandmates. “She didn’t do shit, okay? Back the fuck off.”

“Yeah, whatever, man,” scoffs the bassist, and he goes back to wiping off his makeup in the mirror. “Guess that means you need the room, huh? Can’t even give us time to get our shit?”

“I didn’t say that,” replies Mary coolly, “but I _am_ gonna need the van.”

A general groan of frustration rises from the band. You feel more than a little awkward witnessing this whole exchange—especially since you’re the cause of it. But a glance in Mary’s direction erases any concerns; his eyes are locked onto yours, and his expression is _hungry._ A shock of lust lances through you, and you bite your lower lip. His eyes flash and a muscle in his jaw jumps.

“You can’t be serious!” snarls the bassist, slamming his soiled wet wipe into the garbage can and saddling Mary with an irritated glower.

“C’mon, you still got the other car!” replies Mary defensively, his gaze tearing from you and landing on his bandmate.

“The fucking _Pinto?”_ scoffs the drummer, as he packs up his stuff into his duffel. “You’re killing me, Mare.”

“Hey, I let you guys use the van when _you_ need it,” snaps Mary, his nose wrinkled in anger. “Jesus Christ, you’d think I was asking for your firstborns or something.”

“Fine, but you owe us, Goore,” replies the bassist, as he shoves his things into a knapsack, slings it over his shoulder, and elbows past the two of you. 

One by one, the rest of the disgruntled band members filter out of the room, muttering under their breath. At long last, you are alone with the object of your affections. With a deep breath, you lean back against the open door, hoping to convey sexy nonchalance, which flies in the face of how fast your heart is beating. 

Mary blows out an exaggerated sigh, and scratches at his crusty hair.

“Welp, that was fuckin’ awkward,” he says, turning to you with a lopsided smirk. “But if you’re still down,” he continues, fishing a set of keys from his pocket and jingling them in your face, “this is your one-way ticket to pound town.”

You giggle. “Did you mean to rhyme just now?”

“‘Course I did, sweets,” he replies easily, slipping an arm around your shoulders and guiding you from the green room. “Now, I gotta warn ya—I am a little _rough_ in the sack. If that ain’t your thing, you better let me—”

Without warning, you press him against the wall and kiss him hungrily. Moaning against his lips, you slide your arms around his neck, crowding into his space. With a surprised grunt, Mary responds in kind, sweeping his tongue across your lips until they part in invitation. With his tongue exploring your mouth, his hands roam your body, squeezing and pulling and caressing, fanning that hot ember in your belly into a flame. One of his hands hooks behind your knee, lifting and coaxing your leg around his hips.

“Shit, baby,” he mumbles, when he pulls back a little to breathe. His eyes are hooded and dark and absolutely fucking _ravenous._ “You’re really fuckin’ hot, you know that? Christ, I’m already sporting a half-chub here.”

“Mm, oops,” you reply, in a feigned innocent tone, and your hand skates down to the crotch of his jeans. “Did I do that?”

“Ah, fuck,” he hisses, letting his head flop backwards to the wall as you roll your hips into his. “You keep that up and the show will be over before it’s even started.”

You let him drop your leg and yank you none-too-gently down the hall. When you arrive at the heavy double doors, Mary shoves them open to reveal the almost empty parking lot behind the building. There’s only two cars parked out here. One—a shitty, beat-up gray Ford Pinto, packed like a can of sardines, with blue flame decals licking up the hood and many rust spots dotting its chassis. The other—a large, chunky cargo van painted with a mural depicting a buff, scantily-clad man and woman astride a ferocious black dragon as it breathes a gout of flame over a deserted landscape.

The other members of Theoretical Slut give you and Mary crude hand gestures as the Pinto speeds out of the parking lot. You ignore them—you’ve got other things on your mind. 

“Wow.” When presented with this rather impressive piece of art immortalized on the van, your lust is momentarily forgotten. “Mary, this is…”

“Pretty dope, right?” he says, flashing you a toothy grin. “It’s even better on the inside, baby doll.” His arm comes around your shoulders and with a sort of lackadaisical swagger, he guides you over to the painted door of the van and yanks it open.

The back of the van has been gutted; the bench seats behind the driver and passenger seats removed to make room for the queen-size mattress he’s shoved back there. When the door opens, the string of lights that are hanging from the walls blink to life, bathing the interior in a warm glow. 

Not at all what you expected.

Mary’s eyes are on you, gauging your reaction to this obviously vulnerable side to him. Smirking, you crawl into the back on all fours, flashing him a generous view up your skirt in the process. He groans through clenched teeth. With a half-sighed hum, you stretch out on the mattress, your head pointed towards the driver’s seat. You tilt your chin up to look at him, resting your arms lazily above your head.

“Shockingly romantic in here for someone who sings about eating people,” you say lightly.

“Hey, I could still eat you,” he replies, crawling into the van and shutting the door behind him. The string lights blink out as the door clicks shut, bathing you in darkness. “In fact, I intend to.” 

“I _am_ pretty tasty.”

“Don’t I know it?” Mary hastily clambers into the driver’s seat. “As horny as I am for that sweet pussy right now, I’m gonna find us a nice secluded spot. Once had a fuckin’ cop knock on my door _right_ as I was nutting.”

“Oof.”

“Right?” He barks out a laugh. “Public sex is fuckin’ hot but only when there’s a _threat_ of being caught. Actually being caught fuckin’ sucks ass.” 

The van roars to life and within moments, it’s speeding down the road towards the edge of town. Clearly Mary already has a destination in mind. You crawl up to the side of his driver’s seat, and slip a hand beneath his tank top. With your lips softly kissing on his neck, you caress his torso and stomach, your hand sometimes skating down to palm him through the crotch of his jeans.

“You trying to make me crash, sugar?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“No… just keeping the flame burning.”

“Oh, it’s burning, baby girl, don’t you worry.”

Eventually, Mary pulls off the paved side street and down onto a makeshift path forged by others clearly seeking the same isolation. The van comes to a halt alongside a river bank, and he turns off the engine. With a wolfish look in his eye, he turns to you, and steals a breathtaking kiss from your lips.

“Mm, Mr. Goore, I’m beginning to think you’re secretly a softie. Taking a girl to a nice romantic spot in your cozy shaggin’ wagon?”

“Hey, you better watch it or I’ll show you how _hard_ I am,” he growls against your mouth.

“I’m counting on it, Mary.”

With some minor fumbling, you and Mary make your way back to the mattress, lips locked in a feverish kiss. He hovers over you on all fours, one of his lean thighs between yours. Moaning into his mouth, you slip your hands beneath his ragged tank top and grind yourself against his thigh. 

“I’ve seen you, yanno,” he mumbles, as your hands move to push his tank top up and off his head. “You been coming to every one of our shows.”

“I might’ve been planning this for awhile,” you reply sheepishly, your cheeks heating. “I only worked up the courage to go through with it tonight.”

“Mm, and I am _so_ goddamn glad you did,” he says, his mouth moving from your lips to your jaw and down your neck. “I looked for you after the shows every time, but you were always gone by the time I got off-stage.”

“Yeah…” Suddenly shy, you wriggle beneath him as his teeth drag slow and sharp against your neck. “I’d always lose my nerve when I didn’t… follow through.”

“Heh, you’re real pretty when you blush just for me, baby doll. You want this?” he asks, his voice honeyed and low, as he drags your hand down to the tent he’s pitched in his jeans.

“Ah... yes. Fuck yes, Mare, please,” you whisper, palming the outline of his cock. “Wanted you for so fucking long.”

“First things first,” he says, and yanks up both your shirt and bra with one hooked thumb. Your tits bounce free and he gives a wordless groan of appreciation. “Gotta see these again. Mm, I didn’t get a close enough look from on stage.”

“Well, they’re here for your viewing pleasure, now. Up close and personal,” you purr, biting your lower lip. 

With his eyes trained on your face, Mary drags his tongue across one nipple, while his other hand massages the neglected breast. Rolling your hips against his thigh in a bid to relieve some of the throb between your legs, you writhe under his expert ministrations, moaning his name. Mercilessly, he winds that band of white-hot arousal tighter and tighter in your belly, until you’re a whining, needy mess.

“Fuck, baby doll—these tits are fucking perfect. Knew the second I saw ‘em that I _had_ to get my fuckin’ hands on ‘em,” he mumbles, sucking an aforementioned perfect nipple into his mouth with a hum. “And my mouth…”

A low, keening whine escapes you as he continues his delicious torture. You squirm beneath him, pleading breathlessly for more. He seems utterly content to tease you, however. His free hand slips easily between your legs, replacing the thigh you’ve been riding. 

“Mary—”

“Ooh, you’re so fuckin’ wet for me, sweetness… I wanna taste that pussy.” His fingers press against the wet crotch of your panties, right where your clit would be, and a growl of appreciation escapes him when you mewl with need. “Can I, baby? Can I get my mouth on you? Will you fuckin’ smother me with that cunt?”

“Please,” you whisper, clinging to his neck as he tugs aside your panties to slip a finger inside. You moan, throwing your head back as your hands curl into the hair at the back of his head.

“Mm, look at you. So fucking desperate for me,” he mumbles, his nose brushing against your neck. “Maybe I should—”

Suddenly impatient, you roll, effectively switching your position with him. Now you’re sitting on his lower stomach, straddling his hips. Automatically, his hands come to rest on your thighs—he looks a little surprised at the abrupt shift, but recovers quickly. You can feel his stiff cock, trapped in his jeans, pressing against your backside. Smirking down at him, you hastily shuck off your shirt and bra, tossing them into a heap behind the driver’s seat. Without hesitation, he yanks himself upright to bury his face between your tits, groaning in delight.

“I believe you owe me a pussy licking, sir,” you reply, shoving him unceremoniously flat and pressing a palm to his chest to keep him there. “And I intend to collect.”

“Y-Yes, ma’am,” he says, his eyes wide and oh, so eager.

Without further preamble, you maneuver out of your panties, toss them with the rest of your clothes, and knee-walk up to his face. Mary’s eyes are hungry—his arms circle around your thighs and he yanks your drenched cunt down to his mouth the moment it’s close enough. With all the enthusiasm of a kid devouring a piece of candy, he dives in, lapping eagerly at your folds. When you tug a handful of his hair to guide him, he groans deep in his throat.

“Fuck, that’s a good boy,” you moan breathlessly, tilting your head back and mashing your pussy against his mouth. _“Such_ a good boy for me…”

Mary’s hips buck a little at your praise. With a muffled whine into your pussy, he thrusts up into nothing, clearly seeking some sort of contact. 

His talented tongue winds you tighter and tighter until you’re close to snapping. At long last, you tip over that precipice and come hard with a wordless, tremulous noise of pleasure, flooding him with your slick. Your hands clench tight in his hair, anchoring yourself to his mouth as you twitch and convulse from the aftershocks. Mary continues on without stopping, licking you thoroughly through it and eking another orgasm from your pussy in the process. 

To his credit, he doesn’t jerk away or complain about your juices—he takes it like a fucking champ, lewdly slurping at your cunt like a fine wine. Almost as if he’s _enjoying_ it. Breathing hard, eyes closed, you roll off him, wriggling down until you’re comfortably lying beside him on the mattress.

“Holy shit,” you pant, eyes opening to take in the sight of his glistening mouth, chin, and neck. It’s simultaneously arousing and embarrassing to see the blood from his face is almost all gone now, rubbed off on your thighs. “Holy _shit,_ Mary.”

“Fuck, you taste fuckin’ good, baby doll,” he purrs, rolling onto his side to face you. “C’mere.” He drags you closer, and when he kisses you deep, you taste yourself on his tongue. One of his hands pulls your thigh around his hips, and his fingers dig into the soft swell of your ass. Breathlessly, he whispers a question into your mouth. “You got condoms?”

“Pill,” you reply, lifting your hands to his face and scratching your nails at the slight scruff on his jaw, “and I’m not gonna lie… I kinda want you to come inside me.”

“Sssshit, baby, where you been all my goddamn life?” he growls, and he rolls, suddenly caging you beneath him. Immediately, his mouth is on your neck, nipping teasingly at your skin. “I will _absolutely_ bust a fuckin’ nut _all_ up inside that pussy.” 

Hastily, he unbuttons his jeans, shoves them down to his knees, and manhandles his stiff cock out of his boxers. With an appreciative groan, he bites down _hard_ onto your shoulder, sucks a chain of hickeys into your skin, and guides his leaking dick into your waiting cunt. A low growl escapes past his clenched teeth as he hilts himself fully within you.

With a sharp, pleasured cry, you dig your nails into the meat of his shoulder blades.

 _“FUCK._ Oh, fuck, Mary, you feel so fucking good…”

“Ditto, sugar tits,” he mumbles, and he pulls almost all the way back out, only to slam into you with a feral growl. “God, I knew the second I saw you… I was gonna love fucking this pussy. Sooo goddamn tight and hot, _fuck.”_

He continues this tactic for a moment or two—pulling out almost all the way, driving deep inside with a quick snap of his hips—it’s absolutely maddening. In distress, you whine, and wrap your legs around his slender hips to coax him faster. He grunts raggedly into your mouth, and mercifully picks up the pace. The louder you are, the faster and harder he goes, until you can feel the van rock with the force of his thrusts. 

“You close?” he growls breathlessly in your ear, slowing his pace down until you whine piteously. “Heh, yeah, you’re fuckin’ close. Come on this fuckin’ dick for me, baby. Tell what you need to get there.”

“Harder! Fuck me harder, _please.”_

With half-snarled words of praise, Mary slides a hand up your body to wrap around your throat, gently squeezing until the edges of your vision blur. This is the last little shove you need. With a sharp, strangled gasp, you arch upward and come _hard_ , convulsing uncontrollably beneath him. He fucks you rough through your climax, biting and kissing your neck and lips while you recover. Easing up on your neck while the pleasure ebbs, he chuckles appreciatively deep in his throat, and brings his lips to your ear.

“Christ, you’re gripping my dick so fuckin’ good, sugar. _So_ —nngh, fuck—so good... gonna fuckin’ come, gonna fuckin’ _come._ Gonna fill that sweet pussy up…”

There’s a distinct tremor to his arms now, his skin his dewy with sweat, and his face is screwed up in concentration. An irresistible wave of affection washes over you and you yank him down by his neck to kiss him hard. Panting hard into your mouth, desperately chasing his climax, Mary tenses and buries his face into your shoulder with a grunt. Hips twitching and hands fisted in the blankets, he comes hard, his cock pulsing inside you, filling you up just like he promised. 

It takes him a moment to find his voice.

“F-Fuck…” he breathes, lifting his head to look you in the eye. “Goddamn, baby. I have _never_ come that hard before.”

“Best pussy you’ve ever had, huh?” you say with a smirk, just a little smug.

“You’ve just catapulted to my number one spot, sweet thing,” he says, leaning down until his lips and yours are practically touching. “Can I keep you?” He mumbles the question into your mouth, half-kissing you sweetly.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, and you bring your hands to his sweat-damp hair, _“if_ you know the correct answer to this question.”

“...What?”

“Are you hungry for dessert?” you purr, your eyes glittering as he meets your gaze. “Hope you like creampie, baby, ‘cause I got some for you right here.”

“Oh, fuck…”

At your devilish, wicked smirk, Mary’s eyes widen into adorably confused puppy-like stare. Like he’s never in his wildest dreams thought he’d find a girl who’d ask this of him. With gentle but irresistible force, you push his head down towards your pussy, your intentions crystal clear.

Allowing himself to be pushed, his eyes transfixed onto your face, he wriggles down the length of your body. He spreads your legs, and obediently brings his mouth to your waiting, creamy pussy. 

You smile down at him, your hands carding through his hair.

“That’s my good boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> filthy-rat.tumblr.com


End file.
